


Here At Least We Shall Be Free

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mentions of Other Valar, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: When he falls to his knees, it is not in some lofty haven-peak, but deep and dark beneath the earth, carved out by the unholy powers of Udûn’s Master. When he enters, there is no light that greets him as above with sparkling radiance, no holy theme plucked from golden lyre. When he trails the labyrinthine halls the only light is his own, and it flickers along the facets of mirrored obsidian, illuminating his steep decent.***Mairon swears himself to Melkor.





	Here At Least We Shall Be Free

Paradise Lost, Book I by John Milton

(As Quoted By Satan, Lines 250 to 263)

***

“Hail horror! Hail,

Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,

Receive thy new possessor- one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

When matter where, if I be still the same,

And what I should be, all but less than he

Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least

We shall be free: the Almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence;

Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice,

To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:

Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”

***

When he falls to his knees, it is not in some lofty haven-peak, but deep and dark beneath the earth, carved out by the unholy powers of Udûn’s Master. When he enters, there is no light that greets him as above with sparkling radiance, no holy theme plucked from golden lyre. When he trails the labyrinthine halls the only light is his own, and it flickers along the facets of mirrored obsidian, illuminating his steep decent.

And the subterranean rock shifts ahead of him, guiding him through the uninhabited kingdom with raw elation until at least he comes to the innermost chamber. Secret doors tremble and part for him, in awe of the angelic beauty that carried with him such effulgence that night-creatures burn in: such that one yearns only to caress the soft flame of burning aurum, to stare forever into its radiant swelter.

It was such that the darkness of the room surrounded his entry, such that the distant figure who stood waiting in heavy brocade turned and could not tear His black eyes from the entrancing cherubim, incoronated with living flame. So stood they, on opposing sides of the most intimate, most secret chamber on Arda, where not even Manwë could see or Varda could hear: vestal Maia of flame and Darkness Incarnate.

But there was no deceit: no violent defilement nor subtle manipulation the infernal Vala wielded against the untainted Maiar: of his own accord he came from the very heights of Heaven’s favor to the edge of the world where Utumno lay. Here only there was unlight, dense and close: a cocoon of patient metamorphosis, enclosing him, surrounding him, whispering into his flesh to stay and never leave.

The distant figure entombed in darkness stood unmoved: aloof seraphim pale as finest mithril, puissant- but fallen- a profane God made into flesh and Hell’s sole inhabitant, forbidden. Yet, from that Darkness came only a sigh, and though naught was spoken between the two a thought was understood in the space of their silence, and it brimmed with barely smothered delight:

‘ _Thou camest,’_ the Darkness murmured, _‘Thou truly camest.’_

A step forward from the impenetrable velvet shade: the Vala entered the ring of hearth-light that encircled the Maia as a mandorla and was revealed. Tall as a looming mountain He was, pale as the most noble peak and veiled in a haze of newly-fallen snow, strong and unwavering in the present darkness: for apart of it He was, inexorable, a vision of decadence that was Stygian, but heady and masculine.

There they stared at one another, and within the portals of their gaze was keener understanding than can be words: among them, a harmony of emotion, complimentary: from the Darkness came uncertainty and from the Fire, crisp and exacting clarity, a comforting smile on crimson lips that bloomed. And from them both came an excitement, a tension like the Firmament, that which glided upwards in tentative hopefulness.

Blasphemous was the glittering chthonia in His eyes, for they held within them a desire as yet unknown to Eä, a sinful longing to possess the Flame afore Him, to have him as His own. Criminal it was, almost, for the Vala to reach out and take his hand: shameful the quiver of the flame-angel as it was cupped like an ember into the chilled touch of the Might Arising.

But was it evil that guided Mairon to kneel afore Melkor on a carpet of cochineal and gold?

And the room, though unlit, was small, and filled easily with their Fëar’s rising tension in a lustrous nebula of Void hemmed with gold. Tenderly, almost, are the jet eyes that gaze down at Mairon, lovingly is the hand that still held his: bronze and ivory interwoven as chaste and secret lovers. And Mairon beheld Him in silent worship, pressed his hands fervently together as in prayer when Melkor ruefully disunited their touch. There he stayed, kneeled and bowed before the Lord of the Dark but yet equal, all the majesty of fire untamed.

O! How the room flowed and pervaded with the loosed colour of their Fëar: of ebony Void and deepest ruby, of placid blues, of cinnabar and lurid flame and ianthine shade. How the cavern glowed with the radiance of mid-day Arnor and the golden uprising of Ormal! How coy the looks that passed between them, He who was shunned and he who was admired: the bashfulness of newlyweds but their anxiety, high-strung by the near-unbearable weight of their condemned actions. And yet, uncaring were they who set into motion wars uncounted and peoples corrupted. Selfish but fallible as mortals are: just as Eru ordained, just as Eru sang in the Beginning.

And in the small room echoed the most ancient of voices, that which made the walls tremble and sigh and made the very earth pause and listen, a humming in the atoms of Eä, of power constrained and potent. So the Arch-Fiend spake: but His voice held not within its tone or inflection malice or resentment, and yet, its susurration was an unfurling of thunder, a charge in the air that electrified and buzzed with building joy:

“Do thou swear an oath which none shall break, which none other shall take, by the name even of our Father, calling the Everlasting Dark upon thee if thou keep it not: and name witness all of Creation that shall know thy vows when chance they look upon thine enlightened face. Doth thou swear fealty to the ends of the Ekkaia, to even the Void and Outer Reaches- Valar, Maiar, Elf or Man yet unborn, or any creature great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth to the end of days- that thou wilt forsake all others for me, should serve none other than me, should remain loyally, fore’er to sing my Discord and reject any dishonest tune?”

And these cursèd words rippled across all of Arda, incoronated in the bleakness of space and all felt, if not heard, the gravity of the Arising’s words as a drop in their heart and a doom aforementioned. Námo on His shadowy throne despaired the souls of the Elves yet unborn and their coming despair, of the Doom of the Ñoldor as yet to come and the harrowing Lament of Lúthien. Vairë weaved Her tapestry the Fates of those future carnal inhabitants, deft fingers threading a patch of blackness that was to come. And though Manwë and Varda could see not so deep into the domain of Hell they felt in their Fëa the all of the triumphs and all of the misery to come from union of Flame and Shadow.

In the comfort of each with the other, neither Melkor nor Mairon hesitated, and from the enfolding drape Melkor drew back His colourless palm, and with horrid talons drew back quickly to slice clean the unnaturally pale flesh that was but clothing to His soul. Unholy ichor flowed as thick and dark as the Void, and on such bone-white skin ran runnels along the muscled length of His bared arm like pomegranate juice: at once sweet and bitter.

Mairon, who hoped not for salvation but prayed for damnation uplifted his head, a vibrant curl of burning locks that framed as a halo his face, symmetrical in such way only mortals hope to aspire, with freckles catching in his own light a glimmering of gold. Tears of liquid silver clinged vehemently to his long lashes but did not fall, though poised. In his eyes there was scandal, but love.

A maturing fevency: the room expanded as a iridescent supernova of condensed energy and chaotic shade, galaxies born and unmade within their intense near-touch, mere seconds their cosmic lifespan. On Mairon’s face emotions faded in an out of thought as quickly as the embers lit in his hair and the stars in the air: euphoria, trepidation, elation and passion, eagerness but not without strain: a rich bouquet of everything all at once, overwhelming. Yet nothing stopped him, for nothing could: the raising of Mairon’s palm, uplifting to meet Melkor’s.

Vague and fleeting are the desperate calls of Aulë in His Halls, ignored, the song of paternal worry ceasing like a single droplet-fall in the endless waving ocean of the Discord afore him. Mairon did not cover or hide his face in modesty when at least his hand rose to level, upheld as if to take and claim godship of his own, though humble servant be his supposed purpose. Respect for the Darkness did he have, but no longer was he stranger from it: for it welcomed him, and sung for him, and was comforted by his sweltering flames just as his natural flames delighted to pirouette for the attentive Shade.

At last from his hung head he spoke, and his voice was low and soft, and its lilt sustained Melkor as an offering of honey ambrosia on an alter.

“Of thine solemn oath I swear eternal, He Who Arises In Might, Lord of All and Giver of Freedom. Fealty to the ends of the Ekkaia and the Outer Reaches I pledge so that all of creation knows to whom I belong. Valar, Maiar, Elf or Man as yet unborn, and any and all of the creatures that time should bring forth I wilt forsake: shall serve none other than thee, should remain, loyally fore’er to sing thine Discord which so closely echos mine own, to reject the dishonest tune of our Father.”

So sealed was his fate, and with the slicing of his palm and the spilling of his blood- which shown only in a slightly darker copper than the tincture of his own heated flesh- the fates of Arda and the course of time were sealed. When their hands, wet with magma-hot blood and cold, congealed ichor interwove again, it was not an angel with a demon, but the Devil with His Lieutenant. Metallic blood mingled and dripped in their tight grasp, and twin trails along their arms the corrupted tears to come. Their gazes, smouldering, rose pearly smoke from their Fëar an explosion of emotions yet unnamed.

All others were irrelevant to the pair, who burst suddenly into joyous Theme but still awaited further joining. A tendril of impatient darkness curled and encircled slowly the teather of _His_ Maiar, that tied Mairon still to Aulë and His favored King-brother- that tether the had begun to strangle Mairon as an ephemeral umbilical cord around a newborn’s neck. Eyes of purest Void pierced down at him, spearing into infernal serpent-eyes and yet, brimming with tears uncontained.

Melkor shouted, in wavering voice the tumults of a storm to be heard over the urgency of their souls:

“Then say it is so! Say that thou art mine to protect, mine to possess wholly! O, coveted flame! Guileful creature beloved of my gloom! My greatest, my most divine- that all I shall have shall also be thine: that when thou pronounce me thy Master **all** shall tremble and lay at thine feet in dread and awe, for only thou shall share in my power: only to thee will my Discord sway, and with me thou wilt shape the earth not only as chief of my powers, Lieutenant of Darkness: but crowned with everlasting glory- my venerated consort!”

The room crackled and whipped as with the winds of a hurricane that rose and fell with the crescendo of a storm unseen since the birth of Eä- and only the strength of the figures in its core kept the room and the glinting obsidian from melting and shattering from the molten centre of their soaring, intermingling Fëar. Dense with excitement, matter crystallized at the apex of the chamber, then rained liquid elements down onto them to drip in a molten pool at their feet: a baptism in the blood of the earth.

Opalescent clouds of condensed rock hung about them and swirled with the currents of their Fëar, lecherous, waiting only to consummate. Intoxicated, electrons wavered in their spin and the shade around them writhed as a serpent's dying throes. Liquid gold floated around Mairon to crown him in sinful elegance, for plain he was in simple travel clothes from Almaren, but never before had Melkor thought him more beautiful than this:

With his very soul loosed and leaking from his irises in a display of power unmatched by any and all before him, liquid mercury and liquid gold beaded his temples and embers sparked exuberant in the copper wave of his dampened hair. In his face was a story of their meeting and their falling: their days stolen and hidden from the world, revealed in the scorching stare, the twist of his pouty mouth in upwards glee. And still their hands, entwined, and the married scarlet of their blood dripped between them and upwards in distorted gravity.

Attempting to find breath in the room which bent to their will was nigh impossible, and Mairon’s parted lips streamed with boiling tears, leaden with passionate words and their oath. The smell of _Melkor_ filled him as the air in his lungs, and Mairon gasped to imbibe all of Him as a man drowned: erotic and subtle the clashing of His blessèd perfume. Violets in the nighttime breeze, ozone from angered clouds, the smell of sweet flowers, dying in the sun. . . of metallic iron and festering resin, of the powder of long-decayed bone- a poignant reminder of mortality. Wet earth made dark with acid rain but fertile with things of Nocturnal’s own making: musky the scent of a long-forgotten crypt to some old deity, sea brine and halite, singèd mineral and vetiver blood-Pinot, fermented, an opiate that drowsed Mairon’s senses but which he _begged for._

Their gory devotion, a final smile that was his bliss-reddened lips alike the dire curve of a scythe and a gasping halitus as at last he found within himself the strength to scream over the rush:

“I do! I name thee as Master! Lay thy claim upon me and mark me as yours fore'er!”

At last with consent, Melkor descended upon him like the nighttime that chases the dying rays of the sun. With His icy soul He tears Mairon’s spirit-tether eagerly, ferally and heals its ripped and torn wound with His own inky darkness, and Mairon, in overwhelming concoction of pain and bliss collapses but is captured by his new Master who kneels beside him now in similar swoon. Head with curls of flame in burning joy rest heavily on Melkor’s singèd shoulder as at last their Fëar communed completely now in profane consummation: a swirling of warped and chaotic space-time and a flame hotter than their shared subterranean Hell.

From them is an explosion of amaranthine star-dust and a spattering of thickened red- an otherworldly detonation of conjoined spirit in an impassable enfolding singularity that rushed back inwards to the embraced pair after expansion. There they kneeled, quavering and clutching from the force of their blasphemous union, deaf to the despair of all Eru’s children.

Yet swiftly, Melkor recovers, and the luster of the chamber blinds Him as in a frightful blizzard of shifting colour and sound. Carefully He lifts and carries His limp consort and gentle is Mairon’s unconscious sigh to be held so aloft, so gloriously freed in splendid delirium his Master’s arms, exhausted but suffused in a joy unlike any other: indescribable. Richly Melkor lays him, careful on the bed of silks and down-cushions, and regal he is in mindless stupor as flame incarnate, sinful and alluring.

And Melkor gazed down upon him, unsteady but stricken with the sight of the first of His Maiar, and most beloved, and Himself He leaned over their marriage-bed to better commit to memory the sharp lines of his face: the bow of his pink lips, the delicate closed eyes and flutter of ginger lashes, the press of his form into the soft mattress and every placement of every freckle.

Still the room echoed with their oath as careful the Darkness bent, pressing trembling and insatiable lips to His newly espoused as if to bestow vigor back into his overwhelmed form. Gentle and kind and worried, the whispering pressure and the brush of bloodless fingers across a sweat-dewed cheek, and Mairon’s eyes open with indolent languor. He responds back in kind readily, hands encircling Melkor’s neck to draw Him ever-near in the flesh, for no closer could their Fëar now be. Many a kiss the fallen seraphim had stolen from the cherubim in Yavanna’s gardens and otherwhere, and their lips found easily the other’s.

Both no longer contained only a heartbeat, but a flexing, pulsing throb, an ebb and flow that enkindled them. Melkor moaned against his sultry lips, powerless to the intensity of their first joining. And if their Fëar-joining was an unforgivable sin than their Fána yearned now in supreme addiction. Reclined, the Maia’s body, a low-burning cinder that charcoaled the sheets, sizzling and shuddering with the lumbering press of Melkor’s form, pressing him as a glacier would the earth, deep into the cushions with an anchoring sturdiness.

Bowed up towards Him for more contact, Mairon whimpered against the lips that bruised his own, that did not let him think of anything else but the passion that burst in his veins and the pulsations that penetrated into the deepest parts of his flesh and bone and blood in violent reverence. Their kiss, impassioned and near-crazed, sloppy with inebriation, was only a crush of swollen lips, a guiding swell of their contused mouths- Melkor, ever-needy, sucking the luxury of his lower lip, reddened, an eventual parting that goaded Him deeper, inviting- pleading- for all of His ardor. A bloodied nip to that full lip, inflamed with His attentions, then a softened, loving moan as His tongue traced the top deprived lip then pressed softly there, lingering.

Scrambling hands clutch the Dark Vala’s tunic and part easily the embroidered velvet, revealing the whiteness of snow in the sacred hollows of mountains and the purpled dusk that persisted there, even in the blaring of the Lamps. The brocade falls from His shoulders in a crisp heap, threads burning with the intensity of the Maia’s grasp. The room hums with their enticing energy, the pressure that _ached,_ slow and dull.

The cloth torn lasciviously from His back shrivels with heat and Melkor’s kiss devours Mairon, tears blindly at the seams of their newly-joined soul and sending Mairon whimpering for more, for anything and _everything_ He would bestow him. A bloody, shaky smear from their fealty swipes Melkor’s uncovered and peaked nipples, and the groan that it tempts shakes the bed, the friction of Mairon’s hot, calloused palms threatening to pry His legs apart with newfound arousal.

Dark hands feel his towering Master, all of Him: the press of His collarbones, the hollow of His neck, the strong, taut twitching of His pectorals and the rise and dip of the ridges of His spine. Bleakly his eyes open as baleful coals when Melkor parts from his lips to look down upon him in the black muskiness of the room, the boiling of the ichor in their veins that froths the wine-dark waves of their soul and the pleasure of their bodies, all-too-close but not close enough.

Slowly does He waver in His view of the majesty of _His_ Flame, and when He falls back down it is as if He is a moon, wavering in orbit- bound to crash with gravity that is too strong. He plants adoring notes of a song of love and lust into Mairon’s skin, with each tiny contact of His lips: dropping on each of his closed lids, down his nose and across his charming, dimpled cheeks, continuing along that shapely jaw and that sensitive, slender throat until Mairon is all but cooing for Him in overwhelming, undiscovered pleasure- and how sinful it was, to hear the Discord in decadent instruments of desire, sung in moans and gasps for yet _more._

The scent of their arousal He inhales from the crook of Mairon’s neck, and Melkor proclaims it to Himself and the world as sacrosanct, this spot and this smell, heady and musky, this sublime pulse-point. Drawing it into His mouth He sucks the blessèd flesh, supple and emblazoned, but plaint, lavishing the skin until Mairon claws His broad shoulders in ecstasy, touches billowing steam.

And Melkor, impatient, finds the edge of Mairon’s simple tunic, kissing along each bit of brown skin exposed by the receding fabric to leave behind brilliant flushes until Mairon’s hands slide up to His mussed hair and his hips jolt to each kiss. Melkor moans, the feeling of His Fána’s arousal finally unable to be ignored with the needy press of a hardened length to the dragging friction of His abdomen: but the vibration on Mairon’s skin does nothing to quell the saturated desire, with his Master’s pleasure transmuted to his flesh.

It is not until the fabric parts at the sensual dip of Mairon’s navel that Melkor cannot keep His composure and tears the unwanted cloth from him with a growl, kissing and licking and nipping there with the shredding of cotton and a reveal of a forge-toned waist and the protrusion of hip-bones that make Melkor sob with unbridled want. The boundary of the Maia’s trousers was tight with an insistent press, and Mairon arched upward, craving only release and further sullying.

Like a gift Melkor unwraps him: hands shaky as the leather laces fall and hands tug at silken black strands. Unwilling now to keep any barrier between them, He sheds them of their confines, shunning holiness and purity and praising the feel of their flesh. Exposed now, fully to each other's eyes He is smothered with that image, the greatness of their actions and the frenzied euphoria that dances in His vision, little spots of dazzling colours and dynamic shape not unlike those seen accompanying a lack of oxygen.

Coated with sweat Mairon’s body glistens in the shadow, his visage an exaltation- a symphony of burning lust, his hair set aflame the bed, eyes glowing from under the thin skin of his closed lids, his swollen lips and love-bitten body overwhelmed by the magma-heat that pooled within his very core. The devotion and love contained in his eyes, that which chased mercilessly their ardor, forced from the Dark Foe a mewl, seeing his flexed, lithe body under His towering own while their spirits still mingled and their bodies still ached from their first union. Bent to His will Mairon was, and yet, the Vala’s flesh was bent to his will as well, with the obvious curve of Melkor’s cock beaded with glistened pearl.

And all He could think to do was worship- to lavish Mairon with adoration and sumptuous kisses- to drape him in the silk of a Vala’s caresses, press brave jewels to his quivering flesh with parting lips and adoring tongue, to build the pressure that beseeched Him in short spasms. With praiseful attention, Melkor kisses up Mairon’s parted thighs, and with a flush of welling blood, bit and then laved His tongue. Incoherent the Little Flame was at first, but soon came his voice, husky and loud: _“Please, make me thine!”_

Firm but still gentle His mouth found his weeping tip, sucking deeply the fat droplet and savoring every bit of his deplorable cries. With each suckle of His occupied mouth and each girdling orbit of His tongue His palm cupped and teased him before stroking teasingly his perineum. Musky and earthy, Mairon filled His nose and His mouth and bucked against hands that kept him from jerking up into the tightening heat. But no longer could Melkor ignore His own need, which pulsed and ached to be touched.

With a depraved sob He removed His mouth and hand and dragged back up Mairon’s form, kissing him sweetly and tenderly along the way before greeting his lips, gently brushing by heaving ribs and finding again his arousal, flushed and hard and now glistering with the Dark Vala’s saliva, wrapping His long fingers around him and pumping slowly his erection before guiding and repositioning them.

Now, face-to-face they lay and still they kissed and embraced as Melkor pressed their hips together, encircling both their erections as best as He could with His large hand and soft fingers, stroking both their lengths in unison. Mairon fumbled in the hot, absorbing kiss, gasping when Melkor stifled a groan. Eyes closed they kept their love to the swaying movement of their bodies, to the tenderness of their kiss and the instinctive actions they knew not of. Hands again entwined for support, and their blood again intermingled, delighted.

Mairon moaned and hooked his leg around the Vala’s hip, drawing them closer and bucking with abandon, arms tight around His shoulders and lips greedy for the taste of Melkor mixed with his own musk. Every stroke of Melkor’s palm and the thrusting of both their hips drove them to rapid ascension as their bodies first experienced carnal pleasure. Melkor’s thumb swiped and wringed at the wet head of both of their cocks as both whimpered in unison, shuddering, their muscles twitching and tensing with the waves of spuming pleasure and the friction of their hardness.

Lost they were to the world, entombed deep in the earth as in their rhythmic song and the uncontrollable rocking of their hips. Twisting and thrashing, mad with their need, they came with each the other's name, red lines raking flesh in their wake and snapping tendrils of climaxing Fëa light. They lay, side-by-side, no longer kissing but pressed so near, holding close and beloved. Song drifted unconsciously from their lips, a Discord that shattered the room in fragments of fading reality a long and peaceful note of the Theme. The world outside quaked with their pleasure and all of Creation loved and despaired to hear their hysteric rapture at the very core of Arda.

Yet still uncaring were they, there at last in the other’s arms: liberated. And when both fell into a tranquil slumber they dreamed not, but were finally at home in the encircling darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have too much to add to this except that I re-read some of Paradise Lost and was inspired :D I've never really written anything blatantly smutty before, so writing this was a little challenging for me! I also really wanted to make their actions more dramatic and draw from some Biblical themes as well. . . such an oath is nothing to take lightly, I suppose (the oath itself was drawn from lines in the Silmarillion about the Oath of Fëanor).  
> Anyways, I'd love to hear your thoughts!  
> ***


End file.
